


Closer

by beelivia, morbid_apricots



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Collab, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Third Person Omniscient, Peter's first time with a dude, Porn With Plot, Smut, mentioned Homophobia, some drinking at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:32:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beelivia/pseuds/beelivia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbid_apricots/pseuds/morbid_apricots
Summary: There are a lot of reasons they shouldn’t be doing this. They work together. They probably can’t handle just one night. Peter’s never done anything with a man before. But they’re going to do it anyways.





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this and I gotta say y'all, expect more collabs popping up because I've missed doing them. -MS

Peter’s already waiting in the bar when Sonny gets there. They have an unspoken agreement that Friday nights are spent drinking the week away. Usually, they don’t get too drunk, but they still have enough for their inhibitions to lower and their shoulders to brush against each other between flirting teases just short of innuendos. This week hasn’t been great, to say the least, and Sonny’s really looking forward to a chance to relax with Peter and not have to overanalyze, overthink. A beer is already waiting on a napkin for him, unopened, when he sits down. 

“Long week for you too, counselor?” he asks, nodding to the glass Peter has of something definitely stronger than Miller Lite.

Peter doesn’t look up from his glass, instead he takes a sip and gestures for Sonny to sit. He turns to him, a worn out expression in his eyes that settles into the lines of his face. He looks a older, drink in hand, staring up at Sonny. “Something like that.” Sonny looks like he wants to push, but instead he sits. Peter downs the rest of his drink before flagging for another. 

“You sure you’re okay, man?”

Over time, he’s learned that someone’s eyes will tell you a lot more than their words. Ribbing between friends is given away by the twinkle in their eyes. And Peter’s obvious contemplation shows in how he’s looking at him, but not really. He’s looking, not seeing. Time and time again, Sonny’s seen that haunted look in the eyes of someone who thinks they’re going to lose everything. A long time ago, he had the same listless look in his own eyes when he thought that he was going to go to hell for something as simple as watching the swim team with a dry mouth and a tracing gaze down their toned bodies. He’s always had a thing for bigger men. It’s taken time, but he’s come to reconcile his beliefs with who he is. Besides, it’s not like he’s a little kid easily scared by hateful preachers anymore. Sonny knows who he is and he’s proud to say so. Peter, it seems, isn’t so lucky with whatever’s burdening him.

When Peter looks at Sonny, he feels a little lighter inside. Like the world isn’t crushing him, pressuring him to be his father’s son. He sees a man he can be himself with, no formalities, no facade, just two friends talking over drinks. The warm burn of alcohol settles in his stomach and makes his head feel a little looser. Things are a little easier to handle, and life doesn’t feel like one big problem anymore.

“It’s been a hard week,” he says, sipping his scotch, “felt appropriate to end it with a proper drink.”

“Cheers to that.”

As they clink glass to bottle, Peter can feel it ebbing away, stress shifting to the back of his mind until there’s only his friend by his side and a drink in his hand. All his life he’s been plagued with an insufferable shadow. The shadow of his father, looming over him like a vulture waiting for prey to fall over and die. He can never be Peter Stone, he’s always “Ben Stone’s son.” A title he has been cursed with since the day he was born. Sometimes Peter wishes Ben wasn’t his father, sometimes he wishes for a more accepting and loving family. Something you see in those Hallmark movies. 

“Sounds like most around here. At mass last weekend they were uh, they were talking about how homosexuality’s a sin. Not exactly a great way to start my week, you know?” The words come out before Sonny can censor them. It’s hard to be openly upset about it, not when his family still doesn’t know and Sonny hasn’t had a boyfriend in a year, a one night stand in a month. “I keep tellin’ myself that they’re misinterpreting, or that I should just walk out but… I never can.”

Peter’s not sure what surprised him more, Sonny’s openness about this topic, or the fact that he can talk about it so casually with him of all people. It must show on his face, because Sonny looks down and takes a long draw from his beer.

“I can relate, my old man had these expectations for me. No matter what I did, I couldn’t escape his shadow. It felt like I was lying to myself… Hiding this part of me so deep inside-”

Peter cuts himself off before he can finish that sentence, he can’t do it. He can’t tell Sonny about this no matter how much he wants to. It feels like a vice around his throat, preventing the words from escaping his lips. When he glances at Sonny to gauge his reaction, he’s sitting there with a concerned expression. Pink lips pulled into a frown, brows furrowed in worry that makes his eyes glimmer with something sorrowful. Peter feels the gnawing guilt flutter in his stomach and tries to push it down with another drink. Even if he could summon the nerve to tell him, he won’t be able to escape the looming shadow placed over his head. 

“I know the feeling. My family- it would break my Ma’s heart,” Sonny says.

He almost laughs to cover the awkwardness. It never occurred to him that Peter could be anything other than straight. He played baseball, and he’s always flirting with Olivia, and he just doesn’t seem the type. Besides, it’s not like Peter said anything about being gay, all he mentioned was hiding something from his father. Part of Sonny wants to deny that it’s possible Peter could be gay because then he has to face the fact that he doesn’t have a chance because of his own inherent flaws as opposed to just lack of compatible sexuality.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But hey, doesn’t mean I can’t dick around sometimes to blow off some steam.”

Peter laughs, the joke helps ease some of his tension. Anxiety and guilt still gnaw at his gut, but it’s not so bad now. Laughing with Sonny makes it easier. Everything is easier with him, Peter knows why, but if he says it then it makes it real. If it’s real then he can’t hide behind anything anymore, and his closest friend will see him. Bare and vulnerable. Peter’s not sure if he’s ready for that. But if he kept hiding behind the lie, how long can he keep it up? Surely the way he’s acting tonight must give it away. He swirls his drink and takes another sip, letting the scotch slide down his throat in a soothing burn, with a bitter aftertaste that matches his feelings.

“I know exactly how you feel, Sonny.” Peter leaves it at that. He doesn’t want to clarify, doesn’t want to be vulnerable just yet. Not when they’re like this. But it’s out there now, open for interpretation, and he hopes Sonny understands.

Polishing off his bottle, Sonny flags down the bartender for another. “You don’t seem the type who picks up guys in bars and just fucks them once.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Peter splutter. It takes everything Sonny has not to openly laugh at him and the flush on his cheeks. There’s innocence to him, inexperience that makes Sonny a little curious about things he’s never considered doing to Peter outside of late nights alone under the covers when he needs just a little bit more to get off. He asks, none too gracefully, if Peter’s ever even had sex with a man before.

A blush crawls up Peter’s neck, dusting over his cheeks and pinkening his ears. He feels an array of emotions, embarrassment, surprise… want. The last one lingers like cigarette smoke, curling around him and invading his senses with every breath. He pushes down the feeling by finishing his drink. Sonny is his friend, he’s just joking around. He can’t mean what Peter’s thinking.

“Y-yeah,” he answers awkwardly. There’s no right way to tell Sonny he’s gay. And there’s certainly no right way to tell him he’s never had sex with a man.

Peter grabs his coat and stands, he can’t handle this. Not here, not now. The twisting, gnawing feeling is back in full force, it’s suffocating him.

“Wait-” Sonny gets up too and stops Peter with a hold on his arm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry. We can forget about it. But you know, if you haven’t, it’s okay.”

The hesitation on Peter’s face makes Sonny’s stomach twist and burn. He crossed a line, like he always does, and now his closest friend is leaving and might not come back. He pulls him lightly back toward the bar, relieved when he follows along and sits down on the stool to finish his drink. At the way Peter’s tongue flicks out over his bottom lip between swallows, Sonny’s heart skips a beat.

Anxiety is still swirling in Peter’s chest, but it ebbs away when Sonny smiles at him. Those lips, soft and pink, turning upward at the corner when Peter had sat back down. He flags the bartender down, this time for coffee. Booze won’t settle his nerves tonight anyway.

“I-I’m not sure how I feel… About you. About anything. It feels wrong, like I’m not supposed to be this way,” Peter feels a memory resurface. A flash of images when he was younger. “There was this boy. He lived three houses down from me. His name was Patrick. I liked him. A lot. And one day, my old man told me not to hang around him anymore. He said that Patrick was a.. a queer, that he was a bad influence on me. I knew he wasn’t worried about me though, all Dad ever cared about was his image.”

Peter spits the last word out like venom, the thought an unpleasant one that sticks to his brain like hot tar. That was the day he knew he could never be out. Whether it was his father’s shadow, or the closet, Peter remains trapped in the cage of the old man’s expectations.

The coffee arrives as ordered, but Peter regrets it now. He craves something stronger, something to wash away the taste of his hatred.

“Well, he can’t control you anymore, and there’s nothing wrong with being gay, Peter. Or bi. Or pan. Or whatever, I don’t know. But what I do know is that liking men isn’t wrong.” 

Talking through this is a strange feeling. It’s great to be able to help someone in the same place he was years ago, but it dredges up emotions that Sonny would rather not explore. As he’s thinking about that, Peter’s first words hit him hard. What does he mean, how he feels about Sonny? The very idea that there could be more sends a thrill down his spine in the best way. He doesn’t push it, not sure if that’ll scare Peter off again, but he can’t deny a certain warmth and satisfaction over it.

By the time Peter drinks his coffee, it’s lukewarm. But he swallows it down to give himself a boost for what he’s about to suggest.

“Do you want to talk about this somewhere more private? I don’t know if I feel comfortable… here.” He loosely gestures to the bar and restaurant area. Forlini’s is a high end restaurant, where people come for business meetings or relaxation after a long day in court, not for deep conversations about one’s sexuality, Peter thinks.

Sonny nods and puts a few bills down, grabbing his coat. Peter follows suit. He’s not sure if this is a good idea, but he can’t be here anymore. Places like Forlini’s remind him too much of the oppressive role his father burdened him with in his passing. Besides, anywhere would be better than here.

Outside, Sonny hails the cab. “My place okay?” At Peter’s nod, he rattles it off to the driver and digs more cash from his pocket in preparation for paying at the end of the ride. Neither of them speak, the atmosphere tense and awkward. More than once, Sonny catches himself staring at Peter and tracing the contours of his face with his eyes. He manages not to get caught, turning his attention out the window every time he realizes what he’s doing. The streets drag by for almost fifteen minutes before the cab stops in front of his building and he pays the driver before opening the door for Peter. 

The building isn’t nice- the security camera outside has a cracked lens, and the front doors open easily without a lock. When they get into the elevator, it creaks under the weight and hums up several floor before reaching Sonny’s, where he leads Peter into his apartment. It’s nothing special, with Ikea furniture, only a couple of pictures on the walls, and a small but nice flat screen sitting on an entertainment unit against one wall.

“Do you want another drink?”

Peter takes a shaky breath and shakes his head. His mind is foggy from the four drinks he had, any more and he’d be drunk enough to do something he would regret. Sonny grabs some waters for them and guides Peter to the couch. It’s a standard sectional, comfy enough to nap on perhaps.

“So how’re you feeling?” 

That question sparks a million reactions through him. He’s scared, mostly. Confused. A bit hopeful. He wants this, but he’s not sure how to ask. He isn’t sure if he has it in him.

“Scared… but I want to believe that this can be a positive thing.” 

Sonny smiles at him, and Peter feels the small flutter of hope bloom into something vibrant. He could watch Sonny smile forever, he thinks, but right now he wants to feel better. He wants to feel something real and alive instead of his dead father’s expectations weighing on him. Peter wants to know it’s ok to have these things, to feel this way. He wants that with Sonny. But damn him, he can’t bring himself to ask.

Sonny’s heart is in his throat. “Peter, can I kiss you?”

That’s not what Sonny meant to ask, but he’s glad he did because Peter nods in a continuation of the shy demeanor that didn’t exist before tonight. With his own fear of rejection in his mind, he cups the back of Peter’s neck and pulls him into a gentle kiss. It’s nothing if not sweet. Peter is careful with him like he’s something precious, all relaxed and tender, pulling Sonny closer by his waist. He’s obviously unsure, but he doesn’t pull away and lets Sonny take the lead.

They separate and rest their foreheads against each other. There’s hope and uncertainty in Sonny’s baby blues, a beautiful contradiction when paired with a few stray hairs falling against his forehead. Peter wants to run his fingers through the once perfectly styled coif and feel Sonny close. He wants to feel this man against him, wants his calloused fingers tugging him closer.

Suddenly, Peter can’t get enough of him, and they’re kissing again. It’s more passionate this time. He pulls at Sonny until the other man is almost straddling him. His lips, God, they’re so much better than he imagined. So kissable and sweet. He tastes like pastries and beer, an odd combination, but very Sonny. Peter rucks up his shirt a bit, feeling the soft skin underneath the layers and marveling at the slender muscle he’s built. “Sonny,” he breaks the kiss again to look into his lust blown eyes. “Need you. Please.” Peter isn’t sure how much longer he can resist, but he wants, needs, to take this further.

“Are you sure?”

If he isn’t, if he regrets this… Sonny isn’t sure he could take it. He searches Peter’s eyes for any sign of hesitation, but all he sees is desire. All he feels in Peter’s hands on him is want. All he hears in Peter’s voice is need. 

“I’m sure,” Peter says.

He’s barely finished talking when Sonny kisses him again, deeper and a little rougher than before. Internally, he reminds himself that this has to go at Peter’s pace. They have all night to explore each other and to feel everything that they can. Since Peter is already pushing at his shirt, he breaks the kiss again to just yank away the fabric until he’s left shirtless. He grabs at Peter’s suit in response, pushing the coat off his shoulders and plucking the buttons open one at a time. While he already knows that Peter isn’t exactly slim, he doesn’t expect the well defined muscles that move with every ragged breath. His head swims with the desire to see every inch of Peter spread out and open for him.

Peter throws his shirt off impatiently, already working on Sonny’s belt when he stops him. “Let’s take this to the bedroom, okay?” His breathe hitches at the look Sonny gives him, like he wants to eat Peter up.

He lifts Sonny with ease, holding his body against his chest and kissing him all the way to the bedroom. Peter lays him down on the mattress and starts kissing down his jaw to his neck. He wants to mark Sonny up, paint his pale skin with hickeys and love bites so everyone knows who gave those to him.

Peter slides Sonny’s pants off the same time he sucks a pale pink nipple into his mouth. Sonny moans and writhes underneath his touches, but Peter isn’t done exploring yet. He wants to feel, to taste, every inch of him. But just as he moves lower, Sonny surprises him by hooking a leg over his waist and flipping them over.

“Be honest, Peter,” he says gently, “I need you to be honest with me. Have you done this before?”

“No.”

Not once do Peter’s eyes leave Sonny’s body, taking in his exposed torso and the smooth skin of his long legs. 

“That’s okay. Let me do the work, yeah? I’ll open myself up for you, then I’ll let you fuck me until I forget my own name. Sound good?”

“Mhmm.”

“Good boy.”

The pet name comes out of nowhere, but as soon as Sonny says it Peter inhales sharply, so that’s something he can use to his advantage. He leans over Peter’s body to get the half-empty bottle of lube from his nightstand and drop it onto his covers. “I’m gonna blow you while I finger myself, that okay?”

Peter nods and watches Sonny slip down his torso until his face is level with his boxer briefs. He gulps, half wondering what it would be like to be blown by a man, half worried that Sonny would be intimidated by his size. But as soon as his underwear is tugged off, Sonny’s eyes flash with hunger. He wraps a hand around Peter’s cock and strokes slowly from base to head, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Peter hisses in pleasure and clenches the sheets in his fists, God, Sonny is way too good at this.

He looks down just in time for Sonny to wrap his lips around the head and suck. Moaning, Peter bucks up, shoving more of his cock into his mouth to chase his pleasure. Sonny takes him easily, swallowing around the girth and wrapping his hand around whatever can’t fit into his mouth. The slow, soft pace is driving Peter up the wall. He needs more. He whines and bucks into Sonny’s mouth, desperate to finish even when they’ve barely started.

Pulling off, Sonny looks up at him with a lazy smile. “Easy. I still want you in me tonight, yeah?”

While he grabs the lube and drizzles some on his fingers, he pulls off and rests his face on Peter’s thigh and kisses lightly at the sensitive skin. The lube is cold, but he’s less concerned about that than he is getting a chance to ride Peter tonight. He’s thought about this more than he’d like to admit. At the first press of his middle finger, he shuts his eyes and wills himself to relax. Nothing he hasn’t done before. 

“Watch me,” he says in a voice an octave lower than normal.

He waits for Peter’s eyes to meet his before he goes back to work. Knowing now that he can’t go too fast, he just mouths up and down the side, tracing a vein with his tongue. Peter makes a strangled sort of sound and reaches for Sonny’s hair. He doesn’t pull, but the gentle pressure makes Sonny’s brain hum in satisfaction. With Peter’s silent urging for more, he adds another finger and moves them a little faster. Even if he could reach his own prostate like this, he wouldn’t seek it out because this has to last. He can’t help a whine at the stretch, however, which makes Peter tighten his grip on Sonny’s hair.

Peter's not sure which is better, Sonny tracing his cock with his tongue, or the sight of him fingering himself open. He absentmindedly thinks about being the one to finger him, to watch Sonny writhe and twist in pleasure as he seeks out that spot. The teasing is almost unbearable at this point, he needs more. He needs to feel Sonny wrapped around him, all tight, wet heat.

Sonny seems to be done prepping himself, because he kisses up Peter's torso, sucks on his sensitive nipples for a moment to watch the man squirm, and kisses him on the lips. Peter moans at the taste, a mix of Sonny and himself blurring over his senses. Need coils tighter in his stomach, making him hump against the thigh slotted between his legs. Soon he pulls away and positions himself over Peter's cock.

“You ready?” Sonny looks like a dream, skin flushed and lips swollen from sucking him off. His hair is mussed from Peter tugging on it, a beautiful mess. He shudders and nods, and Sonny sinks down on him.

Fuck. Peter’s big, Sonny knew that, but he feels much bigger inside of him. Filling him up, making it hard to do anything other than moan and collapse on Peter’s chest. He can’t move right away, too busy getting used to the feeling, but he feels Peter unraveling beneath him, struggling not to move even as his hips keep twitching up helplessly. 

“Give me a minute,” Sonny breathes, lifting his face to kiss him again. It’s still as soft as it has been, even though they’re both breathing heavily and flushed. “Christ. Jesus fuck, God.”

“Breathe.”

“I am, God, I am.”

When Peter laughs breathily, Sonny’s tempted to tell him off but instead he sits up and slowly raises himself up until he’s almost completely empty before slamming back down hard enough that he whimpers. Okay, so not like that. He sets an easy pace grinding more than fucking, enjoying the feeling of being so full. He knows that Peter needs more, but he can’t keep up a pace for it.

“Oh God,” he moans. 

It takes everything in Peter not to buck up into Sonny's tight, wet heat. He holds Sonny's body close, letting him slowly adjust to his size. “Fuck. You're perfect, Sonny.” Slowly, he's building a pace, now it's less of a grinding movement and more of a gentle fuck. Peter's nearly losing his mind with need, part of him wants to flip Sonny over and fuck him up to the headboard. But he doesn't want to hurt the man. “Please, Sonny. Need you,” 

Peter throws his head back and moans as Sonny starts a faster, rougher pace, gripping both of Sonny's hips. He’s not really fucking up into him, he just needs to hold him close. To feel his skin, his sweat, he needs to feel that Sonny's real. That this is real.

He's already so close to the edge, but determined to make Sonny cum first. Peter plants his feet down on the mattress to add more force Sonny's thrusts, and takes his lover’s cock into his fist to pump him. It’s awkward from the angle, but it can’t be half bad because Sonny starts with the most pathetic moans and now he’s an absolute mess, going as quickly as he can manage. 

“You gonna come for me?” Peter asks. 

Sonny nods, unable to form words because he’s so overwhelmed with how good it feels. He goes silent when he does come, mouth open in a silent scream with his vision whiting out and his entire body humming at the sensations. As he slowly comes down, Peter grabs his hips and keeps him moving. He’s too sensitive, but the only protest he can muster is a drawn out whine. The sound of Peter grunting and repeating his name is absolutely killing him. Christ, if he could go another round so soon he’d get off on that alone.

Peter's so close he can taste it, he just needs a little more. He's chanting Sonny's name like a prayer while fucking up into him, then, slender fingers pinch and pluck at his nipples.

He cums, nearly screaming as his orgasm rolls through him like crashing waves. Peter's hips stutter a bit before slowing to a stop, and Sonny collapses on top of him. He rolls them onto their side and slips out of Sonny, who’s panting, worn out.

“That was amazing.” 

Peter looks into his eyes, baby blue glazed over in a post-sex haze. Sonny hums in agreement and snuggles closer. He's more than happy to give his lover the comfort.

They shift until they're spooning, and Peter can feel the sweat cooling on Sonny's back as it presses against his front. He snakes an arm around his slender frame and lazily locks their fingers together. Finally, his mind is at peace. So many things are going through Peter's mind in this moment. He searches for any of the earlier guilt or anxiety, the weight of his father's shadow. It’s there, resting quietly somewhere in the back of his mind, but for now, there’s only him and Sonny.

Peter can’t help thinking about how this changes things. They can't go back to the way things were before… well, before. Things are different now, feelings complicated and muddled up into a grayish haze of uncertainty. Does he even want to go back to the way things were? Would Sonny want that? The more he thinks about these things, the further any hope of sleep goes. The fear of rejection swirls like a storm in his chest, and all Peter can do is lay there and let it rage into a hurricane of anxiety. He doesn't regret sleeping with Sonny, but what if the man next to him doesn't feel the same way? 

Similar thoughts come to light for Sonny. This was fun, and it felt really good, but he thinks he might like Peter a little more than he should. Then there’s the fact that this is all new to Peter, he’s probably not going to be ready for a relationship with anyone, let alone Sonny. A sickening sense that he might have taken advantage of the situation makes him a little nauseous but he hides it by pressing even closer to Peter and pillowing his head on the curve of his bicep in a way that makes him feel like the world is crumbling around him a little less. Everything that needs to be discussed can be worried about in the morning.

However, he still doesn’t want to deal with the no doubt heartbreaking conversation by the time he wakes up in the morning still in Peter’s arms. He drags himself out of bed despite how warm and comfortable he is and digs through his clothes for sweatpants to pull on while he makes a pot of coffee. The caffeine has to wake him up, make everything make sense.

Sunlight filtering through thin curtains wakes Peter, as well as an uncomfortable crustiness on his chest. He vaguely remembers Sonny cumming all over him last night, which explains the crusty, white flakes on his torso. He decides to head for the bathroom to clean up. The hot water soothes his sore muscles and clears his mind. They has to talk about this. They can't float around this bubble of uncertainty forever, at least asking where they stand will make things easier. Peter summons the courage to exit the shower and dress in his strewn about clothes, walking in on Sonny making pancakes and eggs in nothing but a pair of sweatpants.

“Good morning,” Peter brushes Sonny's shoulder with his knuckles and swears he can feel some sort of spark under his skin. He pours himself a hefty cup of coffee before helping himself to the bacon cooling on a paper towel covered plate.

Sonny smiles at him and serves them both the breakfast he made. Peter can't help loving the domestic atmosphere between them, like this should be a natural thing. He can already imagine them getting ready for work together, making breakfast and talking between sips of coffee with files strewn over the kitchen table. Kissing at the building entrance before going separate routes. This feels right, but is it right for Sonny?

“Should we talk?” Peter breaks the silence first. “About last night, I mean.” 

Quickly, Sonny swallows his bite of pancake, a contemplative expression on his face that makes Peter's stomach twist up in anxious knots. 

“Yeah, probably.” He says. It’s much easier to focus in on his breakfast than it is to turn his sole attention to Peter and talk about what they did last night. He doesn’t regret it, but he’s terrified of what this will do to their friendship, to their jobs, to them. “Look, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, we can just forget it.”

When Peter’s face falls, Sonny’s heart drops with it. “Do you want to?”

“No. No, I don’t because I think I like you but I don’t wanna pressure you into anything and last night was fantastic and you’re really pretty and smart and nice and I don’t know what to do because I never thought anything would happen and I can’t breathe-”

“Sonny.”

He stops in his tracks when Peter’s hands curl around his wrists. His head is spinning. Their faces are inches apart, and at gentle soothing repetitions to breathe, he calms down until he can focus on the bright green color of Peter’s beautiful eyes.

“I like you too. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Catch us on tumblr: @space-carisi and @giraffe-puppy


End file.
